


Light Diffusing

by imperfectkreis



Series: Monuments [4]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, First Time, M/M, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 12:11:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5333663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectkreis/pseuds/imperfectkreis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sole Survivor Weiss comes to appreciate how straightforward Paladin Danse can be.  Well...sometimes he's straightforward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light Diffusing

There’s nothing, really, that gives Danse away. Not the kisses, which are always sweet, if too short for Weiss’ liking. And it's not the touches, which are everywhere and anywhere that's above the belt. Or even the way Danse breathes so prettily, “Oh, oh,” when Weiss rolls his clothed hips into Danse’s groin, Danse’s legs locked around Weiss’ waist. Maybe some of those clues should add up. But Weiss just passes them off as quirks, again and again. That Danse is maybe a man who is uncomfortable with sex, or maybe can't fully accept his attraction to men. Or, something, anything other than the obvious.

“Do you want me to stop?” Weiss asks. He asks preemptively now, because it's far less destructive to his ego than being told to stop. And Danse always tells him no, eventually. They crash and tear right up to the edge of release. And beneath Weiss, Danse always says “No.” Oh, he’ll say yes to plenty of other things. But not Weiss’s hand on his cock. Not his mouth. Not even grinding together until they’re drowning, clinging to each other for air. They never come apart together.

“We should,” Danse looks away, like the wall of his Prydwen room is suddenly very interesting. 

Weiss has lied well enough to get himself a cot aboard, but Danse has status, and a private room. What they do inside isn't anyone’s business. Though Weiss expects Danse is going to politely insist he return to his own cot in the belly of the ship before the hour is too late. Weiss might listen, he might not, instead choosing to turn to his own methods of persuasion.

Rolling off of Danse, Weiss curls instead at his side, fisting his hand around Danse’s white undershirt. He could do without that, too. Weiss tucks his head in at Danse’s shoulder. It would be too fucking comical to try and make himself small. There isn't really enough space in the bed for them both. Weiss doesn't mind.

“You don't think we should be doing this at all.” Weiss lets go of Danse’s shirt, running the pads of his fingers against Danse’s cheek, down to his jaw, and back up again. “You're ashamed of me.”

“Vishnu…” Anyone else would sound exasperated, Danse is only sad.

“Is that it?” He can barely stifle his smile against Danse’s shoulder. Danse must feel it. “You like having a secret lover that you don't really love?”

Danse's inhale catches against his teeth. “Don't say that.”

“Don't say what?” Weiss’ fingers continue to make patterns until Danse grabs hold of his wrist, stopping him in his wandering course along whatever skin he can find. “Tell me what I shouldn't say.”

Danse shakes his head. Apparently he can't say it either.

“Should I lie then? Say it's not true?”

Wordlessly, Danse whines. His thumb rubs against Weiss’ captured wrist. If he goes on much longer, he’ll wear down the skin, straight to the bone. Weiss wouldn't mind, if it brings Danse some measure of comfort.

“Fine then. Danse, I guess I'm not your lover at all.” Weiss considers rolling away, but there's nowhere to roll except onto the floor. What then? He puts on his boots. Waits for the next vertibird off of the ship? None of these are things he actually wants to be doing. 

“I-just, it can't be true.”

“What can't be true, Danse?”

Danse finally turns his head to face Weiss again, his expression softer, but not giving very much away. Like he almost wants to smile but can't. “That you have feelings for me. Ones with any strength, of any duration.” He sucks in breath, “that can't be true.”

Weiss kisses at Danse’s neck, just below his ear. He tries to slide their legs together, increasing their points of contact. As many pinpricks of intimacy that Danse will allow. “Of course it's true.” He wrenches his hand free from Danse’s grip, only to curl their fingers back together in embrace. “I wouldn't be here otherwise.”

The noise of the ship, it's consistent hum, stops for a moment. Time stops with it, until it whirls back on. Weiss doesn't know how the ship works. Danse probably doesn't either, but if Weiss asks, Danse is sure to provide some sort of explanation. Might be wrong though. Because Danse isn't an engineer, he's a kind man who kills things in hopes of making the world a better place. But Weiss can't fault him, because all he was in the old world was a man adept at talking the state out of killing killers, putting their forfeit lives in his suit pockets like trophies. Now, little by little, he's trying to talk Danse out of an imagined future based on a past that never was. Humans were never good, or pure. Weiss himself is testament to that.

“I love you,” Danse says, as the Prydwen resumes its heartbeat. And Weiss’ stops. Danse practically whines, “Please say something.”

“Oh, God, Danse,” Weiss’ hands start shaking. He can't stop it. He wants a whole tin of mentats. He’ll swallow them hard and dry for the sin he's committed. For having forced this beautiful monster from Danse’s lips. “I love you, God, I love you.”

He can't help it, rolling back on top of Danse, Weiss tries to lick open his lips. In his head the chant of, ‘Let me in, let me in,’ where he's always been locked out. Danse groans back into Weiss’ mouth, his chest reverberating with the sound. Their hips slot back together, Weiss’ between Danse’s thicker legs. Keeping their fingers locked together, Weiss pins their hands to the mattress, each one binding the other. He bites at Danse’s lips, desperate for whatever he's willing to give.

“Vishnu, oh, oh, wait.”

He’ll be denied again. Like he has been, time and time again. Over long weeks, stretching out into months. Weiss feels ragged and raw. Danse looks it too, the way he breathes heavily, but he's so stunningly alive.

“Please, please, let me have you,” Weiss rushes his words. “I have to. Have to have you.”

Danse smiles, “You’ll laugh.”

“At what?”

The exhale is audible, “I've never done this, before.”

Weiss nods, he's sort of expected this confession. “It's okay. We don't have to rush it,” he says, when all he wants to do is rush. “I can suck your cock first, right? I'm sure women have done that for you before...then I can help you-”

“No,” Danse shakes his head against the pillow. The starched white of the sheets sets off the black halo of his hair. “I haven't done this at all. Not with women, not with anyone.”

That's information Weiss doesn't know how to process. How is that even possible? Danse has to be within a couple of years of Weiss’ age, into his thirties at least, though Weiss has never asked. He's handsome, maybe a bit quiet, reserved, but many people find that devastatingly attractive. Weiss just can't figure it.

“How?”

Danse clearly thinks about his answer. “There wasn't anyone. I've had friendships, respected many of my fellow soldiers, but there's never been anyone like you. Someone I could depend upon for...more.”

Honestly, Weiss doesn't know if he trusts himself. Because some deep, dark part of himself finds this thrilling. The very notion that Danse is untouched. That no one, other than him, will have Danse. Ever. The idea of that rakes through his veins. Makes him more desperate than ever.

“But you want me?” Weiss asks, his mouth full of cotton, opening it up but making him want to swallow, if only for relief.

“Yes,” Danse replies, “yes.”

Weiss smiles, pulling Danse along, “what do you want from me?”

There's a little buck of Danse’s hips up into Weiss’. But he’ll make Danse say it.

“What do you want from me?” Weiss drags, pushing himself back down onto Danse’s wider frame.

“You’re insufferable.”

“I'm well aware. Now tell me.” Really, he hopes Danse starts playing along, and quick. If this continues much longer, it’ll stop being fun for Weiss too. He’ll just grab Danse, flip him over, shove his face into the mattress, and have his way. Show Danse what he's been delaying for months. How good Weiss could have made him felt this whole time.

“I want you to put-” Danse tries again. “I want you inside me.”

“Fuck,” Weiss laughs, forgetting for a moment how the walls are thin, virtually non-existent. And Danse’s face falls. “No, no, I'm not making fun of you, God. Just. I've wanted you for so long. This is such a relief.”

“I'd thought our mutual attraction was clearly established.”

“Not quite the same thing, love.” Weiss nudges Danse’s thighs further apart. Part of him is still afraid Danse will change his mind. “God. Later, next time, I'm going to show you fucking everything,” he grins. “I'm going to eat your ass, and suck your cock. Tie you down and fucking milk you until you scream.”

Under him, Danse shivers.

“But right now I think I'll fucking die if I wait any longer.” Weiss doesn't want to get out of bed, not if it can be avoided. “You do masturbate, right? You know how you like to touch yourself.”

Danse gives a curt nod.

“Do you use anything? Lube?” 

“Ah...yes, um. My footlocker…”

That still means Weiss has got to get out of bed. But at least it's closer than his pack. Before he goes, he rucks up Danse’s tee, exposing a strip of bare abdomen, dusted with dark hair, above his waistband. Weiss draws his tongue along Danse’s flesh, nipping at the end until Danse hisses.

“You’re fucking stunning.” Weiss gets out of bed and pops open the footlocker. Everything inside is carefully arranged. There's an internal logic to the organization. There's not much there in terms of personal effects. Mostly ammunition, stimpaks, rad meds. Towards the bottom is an old issue of Picket Fences, and the bottle.

Weiss makes a small show of pulling off his shirt. He's not all hard, disciplined definition like Danse. But he's long and lean and knows he's attractive. When he's sure Danse’s attention is centered on him, he drops his slacks as well, leaving his boxers on. “Now let me help you.”

Weiss drops the lube bottle onto the sheets before crawling back between Danse’s thighs. Grabbing the hem of Danse’s shirt, Weiss coaxes him out of it, Danse’s broad shoulders lifting up off the mattress. Static from the shirt puts Danse’s hair askew. The picture is beyond lovely. Kicking away his sweatpants, Danse stops short of removing his underwear. Weiss finds it entirely predictable he wears tight briefs that hug against his body.

“Fuck, fuck I can't believe how lucky I am.” Weiss kisses Danse quickly, trying to swallow up any protest Danse might formulate about his own flaws. “We’re going to need to take your underwear off, okay?”

Danse nods. Together, they strip him bare. Weiss is so hard it fucking hurts. It hurts to look at Danse, open and waiting. Trusting Weiss to do the right thing.

Grabbing the bottle, Weiss uncaps it, slicking lube over his fingers. “Tell me, Danse, have you thought of this before?” Weiss presses the index finger of his left hand to Danse’s entrance, running it back and forth before dipping in, sinking to the first knuckle.

“Yes.” Danse manages.

Weiss slips the rest of his finger inside, curling and stroking. Watching Danse react. He keeps his right hand flat on Danse’s stomach, liking how his hand looks against Danse’s lighter skin. “Have you tried this? Fucking your hole with your fingers?”

Gasping, “yes.”

Fuck. Fuck. Weiss had to hold steady. Danse is still tight as hell. He pistons his single finger several times before sliding the second in beside the first. “Did you, did you think about me when doing it? About us?”

“Yes.” Danse's eyes are open. Bright. Like the sky they sit inside but cannot see.

“Fuck.” Weiss barely gets the third finger inside before withdrawing. He's about to come in his boxers. Pulling them down, Weiss’ cock bounces out. He has to find the lube bottle again. Slicking his cock, he doesn't even bother to slide his boxers off all the way.

In the back of his mind, Weiss thinks that a Danse deserves more than this. More than this narrow bed. More than them both forcing themselves to stay quiet. More than the fucking Brotherhood that siphons Danse’s kindness and makes it vile. More than Weiss.

He holds the tip of his cock at Danse’s entrance. Waiting for the moment. But the moment won't ever be perfect. Not in this lifetime. So Weiss slides in, feeling Danse yield and tighten in succession around his cock. Hot and slick with lube, Danse’s body starts to vibrate. Weiss puts his mouth to Danse’s ear, muttering, “I've got you. I love you.”

Weiss moves his hips slow at first, so Danse can acclimate. Then faster as he groans. Weiss wants him to keep his eyes open. “Look at me,” and Danse does. They rock together, quietly on the cot that is barely enough for one of them, let alone two. Weiss reaches between their bodies, damp with sweat from exertion and closeness, taking hold of Danse’s cock. He strokes in time with the roll of their hips. Waves crashing against eroding shores.

“Come for me, love. God, you're beautiful.”

Danse’s hair sticks to his forehead, darkening the strands with sweat. He comes, open mouthed but quiet. He deserves the freedom to be loud. Weiss swears to find a way.

The clamping of Danse’s orgasm around Weiss’ cock is enough to tip him over, spilling inside of Danse in rapid spurts of overwhelming relief. After, Weiss feels like he could sleep for days. Danse’s skin is still thrumming. Weiss doesn't want to leave the shell of Danse’s body, but he's growing soft.

“Are you okay?” Weiss asks, supporting himself over Danse’s body.

“Yes, yes I think so.”

Weiss stops himself from laughing, but he's so relieved. And Danse is so straightforward.

“You're not going to make me leave, are you?”

Danse pauses, thinking over how they need to handle this situation. “I don't want you to go. But we’ll have to be discrete, in the morning.”

“Good,” Weiss tries to squeeze his body back onto the mattress, bundling Danse against his chest. They have to work out whose head goes where.

“I worry, that tomorrow you will wake up. And feel you have made a mistake.”

“We’re not a mistake, Danse.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos very appreciated. You can also find me on [tumblr](http://imperfectkreis.tumblr.com)


End file.
